


Breaking the Chains

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Lady Herald and Her Lion [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragon Age Quest: Perseverance, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Cullen's lyrium withdrawals become more than his body can handle, and only one Spirit of Compassion can bring him back from the brink of death.My take on "Perseverance." Mixed with war table missions for Clan Lavellan.





	Breaking the Chains

Verana-Kathryn opened the door to Cullen’s office, report in hand, ready to share information she had just received concerning the worsening situation with Clan Lavellan. Only, when her eyes finally adjusted to the dim light of the tower room, she saw a guardswoman standing within instead of Cullen at his usual spot behind his desk.

“Inquisitor!” the woman clasped her hand to her chest in salute, armor jingling slightly, “If you’re looking for the Commander, he just went to speak with Lady Cassandra. He left in a hurry, and he didn’t say when he would be back.”

Verana’s brow furrowed and she stopped in her tracks. The guardswoman’s words did not sit well with her at all, and she could feel the hairs standing up on her nape; her gut told her that something was terribly wrong.

“Thank you, soldier,” she replied simply, trying not to show her growing concern on her face, before turning around to head to the smithy where she knew Cassandra would be. On her way out, however, the woman hastily asked, “Milady Herald?”

“Yes?” the Inquisitor glanced back, wondering what she wished to add.

“If I may be frank…he…was a little out of sorts. I don’t think he was feeling well.”

Noticing the note of worry in the guard’s voice and expression, Verana nodded, “Thank you again. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Inquisitor.” The guard saluted again.

Verana’s footsteps were loud in her ears as she descended the wall stairs and marched towards the smithy, her reports still in hand. The parchment was now beginning to crumple in her grip, though she tried to stay cool and calm. He had gone to see Cassandra, in a hurry _and_ seemingly not feeling well? That could only mean one thing…

She heard their voices before she even came near the entrance, angry tones echoing from within. Both Cullen and Cassandra jumped in surprise when the door swung open and Verana stepped through, concern writ on the Inquisitor’s face. Cullen’s form was slightly hunched, pain evident in his glazed eyes and tightly-clenched fists. Cassandra’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her own dark eyes flashing what Verana knew was more than mild irritation.

“What’s going on?” she asked, glancing between the two warriors.

Cullen immediately and hurriedly brushed past her, pausing only long enough to murmur a weak “Forgive me” before striding out of the smithy with heavy footfalls and slamming the door behind him.

“And people say _I’m_ stubborn,” Cassandra threw her hands in the air, “This is ridiculous.” Shaking her head and sitting at a nearby table, the Seeker sighed heavily and looked up at the Inquisitor, “I’m assuming you know about Cullen’s lyrium situation?”

“Yes, what about it?” Verana set her reports on another table and crossed her arms, her concern yet growing as Cullen’s battle with lyrium addiction was brought up.

Cassandra gazed into the fire that crackled in the nearby hearth, “Cullen thinks the withdrawals are interfering with his ability to command. He wants me to search for a replacement.”

Verana’s mouth dropped open just as her heart plummeted to her feet; she felt as though she had been punched in the gut, and she could not stop herself from blurting out, “ _No!_ ”

Cassandra smirked, “That’s what _I_ thought. He can’t give up now. Not after how far he’s come. He’s been having a tough withdrawal period these past few days, but in reality, the only thing that has been affected is his own view of himself.”

“He,” Verana put her hand to her head, still reeling from the news, and then took a step backwards, “Why didn’t he tell me anything?”

Cassandra snorted, “Probably so you wouldn’t worry or think less of his abilities. You know how he is.”

“I…” Verana trailed, “I should try to talk to him. See if I can’t placate him.”

The Seeker nodded, “I would. You may be the only one who can convince him to keep going. He is so close to breaking the Chantry’s chains. He _can’t_ stop now.” A rare look of pity flickered across Cassandra’s face as she met Verana’s eyes and added, “You _know_ what will happen if he does.”

The Inquisitor felt her stomach flop, and a wave of nausea crashed over her. She knew all too well what would happen, and she would do everything in her power to keep him from such a fate. Nodding, she turned to leave, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Cassandra watched as Verana departed, offering a final “Good luck, Inquisitor” before the door shut behind her.

Verana strode with purpose in her steps, the way to Cullen’s tower going by in a blur. She noticed no one she passed by them, instead focused on her feet as she tried to formulate how exactly she was going to talk to him. She had no idea the exact state of his mind or the severity of his pain at the moment (though she felt she could guess), and anything she said had equal probability of making him see reason or explode in anger.

Steeling herself, she paused before opening Cullen’s office door…

…only to be met by a frightening roar as something soared at her and exploded into splinters right next to her head; had she not reflexively lifted her hand in time, pieces of wood might have hit her right in the eyes as whatever it was shattered against the doorframe. Her wide violet gaze lifted to see Cullen’s ferocious expression rapidly melting into pure shock from where he stood behind his desk, and he immediately stuttered out an apology.

“Inquisitor! Maker’s breath, I-I didn’t see you…I-I didn’t mean-”

Promptly closing the office door behind her, Verana dropped her now sufficiently-wrinkled reports on the seat of a nearby chair and then glanced to the broken box on the floor, “Cullen…are you-?”

“I’m fine,” he replied all too hastily, moving around the far side of his desk, “I didn’t intend – _agh!_ ”

He stumbled suddenly, barely catching himself on the corner of his desk with one hand as his knees nearly gave way beneath him. His complexion paled to a ghostly pallor, and it was all Verana could do to keep from rushing forward to catch him herself. She crossed her arms to hide her limbs’ nervous vibrating out of fear for him. Her voice, tremulous with emotion, however, betrayed her, “No, you’re not fine, Cullen. You and I both know it. Not when you’re wanting to resign your post.”

Many emotions flickered through his eyes as his gaze met hers, surprise and confirmation among them. “I can’t…keep doing this…” he panted out at last, forcing himself straight again, “I can’t do what I need to do…with _this_ inhibiting me…”

“Cullen, this will pass,” Verana soothed, her voice gentle.

“Yes, but then it will come again, and _again!_ ” he barked, his glazed eyes flashing with fire, “There is no end to it! There is no…I…oh, Maker,” he shook his head slowly, obviously in physical and emotional agony, “This was a mistake. My selfishness has harmed the Inquisition and is hampering our efforts to form an alliance with Clan Lavellan.”

“Leliana, Josephine, and I have the situation well in hand, for now,” Verana tried to reassure him, “We-”

“Sooner or later, our forces _will_ be needed!” Cullen interrupted her fiercely, pounding a fist on his desk so hard that the clutter upon it danced and rattled, “And I won’t be able to give the right orders and it will all fall apart because I couldn’t take what was necessary to do the right thing!”

Verana threw her hands in the air, now beyond frustrated with him, “And that’s the lyrium, isn’t it?”

Cullen hissed a shaking breath, pacing back and forth and running his hands through his hair, “These withdrawals…the nightmares…the _memories_ …they are keeping me from giving my best…I gave nothing less than that to the Chantry and I _will not_ give any less to the Inquisition!” His eyes settled on the shattered box on the floor, his lip curling in disgust. Verana half-expected him to audibly snarl.

With one fluid move, he then spun and punched the bookshelf behind him, the entire piece of furniture shuddering upon impact and causing Verana to nearly jump out of her skin. “I should be _taking it!_ ” His breaths were ragged now, and his shoulders seemed to slump as he leaned into the bookcase for support. “I should be taking it,” he repeated, his voice a defeated whisper that rent through her heart.

In the eerie silence that followed, Verana processed his words and bit her lip, closing her eyes and putting her hands on her hips as she thought of what to say…how she could mend this situation. What she said now could make or break it all…

“Cullen, that’s not what you want, and you know it,” she said at length, her tone a firm one.

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Well, then, what about what _I_ want?” Verana snapped, close to the breaking point, “I already told you never to suggest taking that damned lyrium ever again because _I_ don’t want you on it, do you understand?” She furiously clutched at her hair and then marched over to where the splinters (of what she now knew was his lyrium kit) lay on the floor. Snapping her fingers, she barked, “ _Look_ at me!”

Amber eyes nearly glowed over his shoulder as his head slowly tilted in her direction.

With a wave of her hand, what was left of the lyrium kit burst into white fire and was gone in an instant. Her anger magnified the intensity of her spell, and she could feel the heat sap the moisture right out of the air for a few feet around the pile of ashes, the faint smell of smoke following the flash of magical flame.

Violet eyes met golden, and so many unspoken emotions were conveyed in the invisible thread that connected them. Verana could feel herself breathing as though she’d run for miles, and her feet were heavy, as if rooted to the floor. One part of her wanted to slap him, and the other part of her wanted to rush to his side, to take him in her arms and tell him everything would be all right…

He leaned farther into the bookcase, his head against his arm, “So you’re putting your own desires above the good of the Inquisition, now?”

Verana felt as though she’d been slapped in the face, her cheeks flushing. She looked away from him, trying to steady her voice as she answered through her teeth, “Haven’t you stopped to think that my keeping you off the lyrium _is_ for the good of the Inquisition, Cullen?”

“Without the lyrium, I don’t know when this will stop!” he hissed in reply.

“ _And with it I will lose you!_ ” she cried, “You and I both know what will happen to you if you don’t stay away from it! It will never be enough! You will become like so many other poor Templars, begging for more until you are nothing but a wasted shell of your former self, and then you will wither away and _die_ ,” she could feel hot tears welling in her eyes as her mind envisioned him that way, “I _won’t_ let you do that to yourself. I can’t let that happen, and I will do everything in my power to _keep_ it from happening…don’t you _understand_?”

“ _Don’t you understand that_ this _is slowly killing me, too?_ ” he roared.

She swallowed, more shaken by his outburst than she hoped she was showing. Logically, she knew he was in pain, but she would never know how much…not without being in his shoes. She knew he might be right…that lyrium withdrawal could kill him just as much as continuing to take it could.

“Cullen,” she murmured softly, “Cassandra is convinced that you’re almost through it. So am I.”

“And what if I’m not? We don’t know! None of us know!” he threw his hands in the air, and then hung his head, “I…am so _tired_ of hoping that each episode is the last…of hoping and praying and then having those hopes dashed…”

“Cullen,” she whispered, her mouth dry as she moved slowly, cautiously towards him, “please.” She tentatively cupped his cheek in one hand, half-expecting to be pushed away.

But in a surprising gesture considering their heated argument, his own gloved fingers moved to cover hers, his eyes closing as he pressed her hand to his face and tenderly nuzzled her palm. Drawn to him by an unseen force, she cradled the back of his neck with her other hand and put her forehead against his, “Please…don’t give up. Be strong, love. You can do this, I _know_ you can.”

He made no reply, instead pulling her to him in a tight embrace, burying his face in her shoulder as he nearly lifted her from the floor, only her toes still touching the stone. She gladly ignored the discomfort of his armor as she wrapped her arms about his neck, holding him just as tightly. She could only hope that he drew strength from her as he rocked her slightly, his breath warm through her collar.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured at last, voice muffled.

“Shhhh,” she answered soothingly, stroking the back of his head, “It’s all right…”

At that moment, something scuffled outside the door, and both of them abruptly sprang apart, straightening their clothing and hair before someone decided to enter the office. Verana cleared her throat, swiftly moving to retrieve her reports from the chair; she would not bother him with them today – she, Leliana, and Josephine could work things out on their own for now. She headed for the door that led to the keep and glanced back over her shoulder, offering Cullen a gentle smile of reassurance, “Take it easy, all right?”

With that, she pushed the door open…

…and knocked over two soldiers and three scouts who had been eavesdropping.

Verana was too stunned to say anything at all for a breath or two, but Cullen was quick to fill the awkward silence. He was behind her in an instant, eyes blazing like an inferno, “What are you doing away from your posts? Get back to your stations before I-”

He stopped as he glanced to the side and noticed a handful more slowly backing away from the portcullis-side door. Eyes narrowing and looking to the battlements door, there were yet another handful of listeners trying to escape unnoticed.

At that moment, Verana glanced up and noticed a figure…on the roof?

_Scout Raithon_.

Cullen followed her gaze up and saw the Dalish elf of Clan Lavellan crouched on an overhanging section of shingles near a window. Verana was fairly certain that she saw steam rising from the top of Cullen’s head for an instant before the Commander barked, making even her jump.

“ _You, you, you, you, you,_ and _you_!” he pointed at each of his soldiers in turn, “Will be on latrine duty for the next month! The rest of you will be mentioned in an extensive report to Sister Nightingale in which I will ask how her scouts miraculously have the time to eavesdrop on other members of the Inquisition!”

He then winced suddenly and reflexively put a hand to his temples. At that, Verana warned softly, “Be careful, Commander.”

Then, glaring at the offenders, who scattered upon seeing the Herald of Andraste offering no mercy, the Inquisitor wordlessly headed back to Skyhold’s keep to give Cullen some breathing room.

_Maker, please grant him some respite._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the setting sun illuminated Skyhold’s walls in rich hues of gold and crimson, Verana walked briskly along the windy battlements towards the newly-built Templar tower. She decided to pay a visit to her brother to see how he was settling in and if the Templars had everything they required to be comfortable. Knight-Commander Barris had just returned from a reconnaissance mission in the Hinterlands, and Verana found him speaking with Donovan on the first floor when she ducked into the tower proper.

She was waiting for them to finish their conversation when, of a sudden, a dwarven courier nearly ran right into her, doubling over as she gasped out, “Inquisitor! You must…come quick!”

Alarmed, Verana bent and steadied the dwarf by her shoulders, and Donovan and Barris ceased their talking as the Inquisitor asked, concern in her voice, “Wait, what is it?”

“It’s…it’s the Commander!” the dwarf panted, “He collapsed in his office! I tried to help but…I couldn’t move fast enough! I didn’t know what to do but try and find you!”

Verana felt her heart seize in her chest, a cold sweat coating her skin.

_Oh, Maker…what have I done?_

The Inquisitor flew past the dwarf and raced along the battlements towards Cullen’s office, Donovan and Barris in hot pursuit. She saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing other than the stone pathway to the watchtower, her hair flying behind her like a raven banner. Bursting through the far door of the empty tower, she dashed through, across the gatehouse, and slammed her body into Cullen’s office door to open it, her heart icy with fear.

He had managed to catch himself with his hands, barely missing the corner of his desk where he fell. Face down on the floor, his breathing ragged, he trembled as he struggled to hold himself up, as if refusing to lie all the way down would prevent him from succumbing in full. His face was ghostly pale, his hair matted with sweat, and she saw that his eyes were glazed with pain as he glanced in her direction.

“ _Cullen!_ ” she cried, running forward and sliding onto her knees before him, taking him under the arms and pulling him against her. At that moment, he collapsed fully, his body limp in her arms.

“Verana,” his voice cracked, hoarse as he whispered her name, “Forgive me…my love.”

“Cullen! Cullen, _no_!” panic choked her as he completely lost consciousness, head falling against her chest.

Barris and Donovan rushed to her side with a rattle of metal, the latter easing Cullen from her arms and turning the commander onto his back on the floor, “Maker’s breath, what happened?”

Verana, eyes burning with tears that she forced back with all her strength, saw little point in keeping things from him or the newly-promoted Knight-Commander. Shaking her head she replied quietly, “He stopped the lyrium.”

“ _What?!”_ Donovan exclaimed, wide hazel eyes meeting hers.

“Andraste preserve him,” Barris added solemnly, kneeling next to her, “How long?”

“Months ago,” she answered, “When the Inquisition first started.”

“And he’s been dealing with the withdrawals since?” Donovan’s tone was one of disbelief, “Maker…I don’t know if he’s an idiot or has balls of steel!”

“Better now than later in life,” Barris remarked, eyes distant.

“Does he have a bedroom or something nearby?” her brother inquired, glancing around the room.

“I think…up there,” Verana gestured to the ladder that led to the second floor of the tower.

“Damnit,” Donovan hissed. Shaking his head, he knelt and bent Cullen’s body over his shoulder, then slowly stood, grunting with the effort.

“Donovan, what-”

“We don’t have time to dally, Verana,” her brother cut her off, “and _someone_ has to get him up there.”

She watched, slightly in disbelief as Donovan – himself in armor – carried Cullen’s limp form over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and tested the sturdiness of the ladder before beginning to ascend with the Commander, his face red with the effort but an expression of determination chiseled on his countenance.

“My lady,” Barris suddenly spoke, catching her attention, “What can _I_ do to help?”

Verana glanced around, barely able to think. She paced back and forth, her hands clutching at her head as she tried to formulate a plan. “What do I do? Who do I need?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Barris patiently waited until she finally looked up, meeting his brilliant green gaze, “I need someone to reroute all correspondence to the Commander to my quarters. I also want guards posted with no allowed entry other than those I summon or members of my inner circle. Send for Seeker Cassandra and Lady Vivienne as well.”

The Knight-Commander clasped his hand to his chest, “It will be done my lady.”

After he departed to do as she bade, Verana headed up the ladder herself to assist Donovan in getting Cullen out of his armor, praying all the while that they could do something for him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Verana and Donovan finally managed to get Cullen situated in his bed, Cassandra and Vivienne scrambled up the ladder to meet them.

“Inquisitor, Barris said-” Cassandra stopped as she saw the commander unconscious, and the Seeker looked as though she had been struck. She took a step backward, “Maker…I thought…”

She exchanged glances with Verana and Donovan and then looked down solemnly, “This…could be it.”

Verana’s voice trembled as she asked, “What do you mean, Cassandra?”

“This trial could be his last,” the Seeker replied quietly, “Either he pulls through and wakes, or…”

“…his body shuts down from lack of lyrium,” Donovan finished grimly, Vivienne nodding slowly in affirmation.

Verana could say nothing as her brain tried to process what they were telling her. Her ears felt as though she’d wrapped a scarf around her head, muffling all sound, and she could barely understand them as they continued talking in low voices, discussing the possible outcomes of the situation and how to help Cullen through it…

“…is his body’s effort to throw off the effects of it. From what I hear, over time, it becomes like a part of a person’s vital sustenance – equivalent to sleeping or eating, or even breathing. Cut off the flow, and the body must fight to survive.”

“That makes sense, considering the symptoms.”

“He is struggling to regain control, then. To live without that crutch. His system is…resetting itself, so to speak.”

“And he either succeeds or fails at this point.”

“Precisely.”

Verana’s fists clenched as she finally snapped out of her trance-like state, “How do we help him?”

Vivienne took a breath, hesitating before answering, “Well, darling, it’s a bit late to do anything about the withdrawals themselves at this point, I’m afraid. There’s little we can do with him in his current state, given that we can’t pour liquids down his throat with him unconscious like this.” Her tone then shifted to one of reassurance, “But I _can_ concoct some potions for him to take when he does wake up. I am thinking perhaps the same sort of thing that’s given to mages with mana sickness. It should help quicken the recovery process in the aftermath and allow him to regain his strength faster…set him on the road to recovery and allow him to push this dependency further behind him.”

Sighing, the Enchantress approached Cullen’s bedside, “In the meantime, I can do this – perhaps it will heal any physical trauma that we cannot see, and prevent further damage from occurring.”

With that, Vivienne held her hands aloft over Cullen’s prone form, a soft glow emanating from them and encasing him in soothing light for several moments before it faded away. Inclining her head to Verana, she then added, “I will go and make some elixirs to be delivered to him as soon as possible. That is as much as I can do for him, Inquisitor.”

Once she departed, Cassandra put her hand on Verana’s shoulder and squeezed gently, but said nothing. The Seeker did not need to, however, as Verana felt the intended message – that she was there for her when she needed her. It was remarkable how much like a sister Cassandra seemed to the Inquisitor now, especially after their rocky introduction to each other…

The Seeker then followed Vivienne and left the tower, unable to do anything but wait. Only Donovan remained, unwilling to leave his sister alone in her current emotional state. There, in Cullen’s bedchamber, he sat with her for hours, talking with her and attempting to keep her mind off of the calamity as they kept watch over the afflicted commander.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Verana knew not the hour when Donovan finally departed at her insistence; she would not have him losing sleep, too. She knew the moon was high, however, as its pale light streamed through the ruined portion of the tower wall and illuminated the room in a silver light while the candles slowly died. She shivered a bit as a frigid draft swept through the cracks and wondered how Cullen slept so cold all the time without falling ill; she had a mind to scold the engineers for not at least sealing the gaps with boards...and Cullen for not reprimanding the engineers himself.

_Better yet_ , the thought, _move him to someplace more comfortable_.

Her cheeks grew warm a bit at the notion, but part of her wanted to let him use her own quarters. They were spacious, comfortable, cozy, and often unused – she was away from Skyhold more than she was present. That and it was much more difficult to be bothered there. Few would want to climb those stairs more than once a day…

She shook her head and sighed. It was impossible. It would look terrible for both of them and be a hardship on messengers, who relied on frequent contact with and easy access to the commander in order to relay orders to various outposts and patrols.

She sighed again. It was scolding the engineers, then.

As she let her eyes fall on Cullen’s still, blanketed form, her heart panged in her chest, and she recalled that she never thought they would be the way they were now. Back in Haven, she had never imagined that she would find herself the leader of the reformed Inquisition, living in a massive, ancient stronghold…

…but most of all, she never thought that the two of them would have ever considered themselves _lovers_.

She remembered when she first met him in Haven, when Cassandra introduced her to him and Josephine. She recognized him by reputation as soon as she heard his name – every Circle in the Free Marches had some knowledge of his deeds in Kirkwall – and the warm, slight smile that he had given her then was not only surprising but also completely disarming. He seemed less wary around her than most, which had also surprised her at the time, considering the combined factors of her status as a mage, her suspicious circumstances as the sole survivor of the Conclave incident, and her newfound ability through the power of the Anchor. She recalled wondering if he truly considered her the Herald of Andraste like everyone else seemed to…

Now that she knew more about his background, she wondered if it was a sincere effort on his part to dispense with the distrustfulness he had sported in the past.

She had taken care not to bother him too often, despite his relative openness towards her. They spoke polite greetings to each other, but rarely more than that. During their conference meetings in those early days, though, she found she saw eye-to-eye with him on several issues regarding the Chantry; the look on his face when she declared her intent to seek out the Templars as allies of the Inquisition instead of the rebel mages was one of sincere disbelief, which quickly morphed into gratitude.

It was then her turn to give him a disarming smile…

And then, Corypheus came.

During the attack on Haven, her healthy respect for him quickly grew into admiration. Even faced with certain doom, he managed to inspire what troops they had into fighting spirit, helping concoct the plan to down the mountain on top of the approaching army of Venatori mages. He was a man who would stare death itself in the face, and stare it down he did – even when Corypheus kept advancing, unrelenting, reducing Haven to burning rubble with his abominable dragon – unwilling to go down without a fight.

When she elected to stay behind to give the people of Haven a chance to escape, the look in his eyes was one she would never forget. In an instant, he understood what would likely be her fate, and momentarily, his determined expression was replaced with something that pierced her to the core. What _exactly_ it was, she was not certain – what seemed to be an amalgamation of astonishment, regret, denial – but in that moment, for the first time in a good while, she felt she was a person who actually _meant_ something to someone. That someone actually cared about what happened to her. That she was more than the symbolic “Herald” of the faith, forcibly detached from humanity…or a mere mage – barely higher in status than a demon.

That feeling was only reinforced following her deadly hike in the snows of the Frostbacks, after, by the grace of the Maker, she escaped the avalanche she had unleashed on Haven by jumping into the town’s well. Her memories of the trudge in the howling blizzard were blurry, but she did remember keeping him at the forefront of her mind the entire time…telling herself that she _would_ see him again – this former Templar who dared to care about a mage’s fate – or die trying.

Just before she collapsed from exhaustion and the bitter cold, she remembered hearing his alarmed cry in the wind as she spotted fires in the distance. Her vision almost immediately failed her, but she felt him pick her up, her face buried in fur as he hunched over her to shield her from the slicing gale.

“ _It’s all right, Herald…you’re safe_.” She could hear his reassuring words just as clearly now as she had then. She remembered that when they reached her ears, she finally allowed herself to slip into unconsciousness, going limp in his arms. She believed him, completely. When she woke again at last, warmed by fire and blankets, and Mother Giselle led them in a hopeful hymn, she heard him add his voice to the chorus, and she remembered shivering from something other than the cold…

On the way to Skyhold, they spoke surprisingly little, as they were mostly occupied with keeping the survivors fed, warm, and in good spirits, ensuring no one fell behind. That did not stop her from stealing glances at him every now and again, which she found herself doing with increased frequency. After all that transpired in Haven, she seemed to see him with new eyes. She had been aware of his good looks before, of course, but perhaps it was the brush with death that made her hyper-conscious of just how handsome he was. And in the warm, bright sun of the Frostbacks, without the deep shadows of the Chantry firelight or the eerie glow of the Breach to throw his features in high relief, he seemed years younger.

Once they established their headquarters at the proud fortress, she at last opened up more to him, confessing her fears about leading the Inquisition and the haunting memories of Therinfal Redoubt that yet plagued her. He listened to her politely, offering his sympathies, and she did not know why she found it surprising, or why she was so pleased to hear his words of comfort, even if they were professionally cordial in nature. His eyes allowed her to see deeper than his words permitted, however, and she left the conversation feeling they both had shared more than they had expected to that day.

Then the Siege of Adamant arrived. It was then, while at the side of the legendary Hawke, that she witnessed Cullen fully immersed in his element. The assault on the keep was charged with an energy that he himself had fostered amongst the troops. He was a powerful leader, the army he commanded a mere extension of his will. He had stood proud and tall, defiant against the opposition, fearlessly striding into the fray with demons all about them. He was like the might of the Inquisition personified, and his loyal men struck the fortress like the righteous fist of the Maker.

She had missed much of the battle after she had fallen into the Fade rift; but when she returned, she heard rumors circulating amongst some of the troops of how concerned he had been when he found out she had disappeared from the battlements entirely, though, by all accounts, he had shrugged it off quickly, continuing to marshal the forces in her absence and awaiting her inevitable return. She recalled feeling warmed at the thought that he yet cared for her personal safety, even if it _was_ for practical reasons, of course…

No sooner than they had returned to the walls of Skyhold did Josephine inform them about the ball at the Winter Palace and the possible assassination plot against the Empress of Orlais. They had concocted a plan to create a distraction – she and Cullen dancing for the entertainment of the court whilst Leliana’s agents investigated the plot itself. Their subsequent practices together, however difficult they were, taught them much about each other. He was driven to succeed, and not just on the battlefield – he took the dancing lessons as a personal challenge, and he was determined to make it work.

He was also quite gentlemanly with her, never taking out his frustrations on her, and always courteous during his practices. Not only that, but she found he possessed a certain shyness when interacting with her that she had never seen before, and she found it quite endearing. It was like glimpsing a tender, gentle soul behind a hard and imposing shell.

Embers that barely flickered with hope before now began to smolder in earnest…

The day the ball arrived was both filled with anxiety and great relief. And it also culminated in something she never expected – their first kiss. She remembered it as if it were yesterday…their standing in the shadowed balcony of the Winter Palace, confessing their love in the quiet of the night, both stunned at each other’s admissions. Verana still was not entirely certain how it had happened, but she knew one thing for certain – it had sent her spirit soaring to heights unknown. Up until that moment, she had repeatedly told herself that whatever she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice, it was merely a kindness to which she was not accustomed. Kindness and a chivalrous nature that was, perhaps, rare amongst men. Anytime she thought it might be something more – secretly hoped it was something more – she was sure she was misreading it. A mage, however privileged, could not be so lucky, especially not with a former Templar…

And yet she was.

Thereafter, their interactions were always laced with signs of their slowly growing affection: small touches of hands when passing each other in Skyhold’s halls, gentle looks and smiles, the elimination of their titles in their correspondence to each other. They stole quite moments together whenever they could, punctuated with tentative and sweet kisses that slowly stoked those quietly burning embers…

“Inquisitor?”

Verana was suddenly broken out of her memories by the voice of Josephine, who had ascended the ladder so quietly that she had not even heard ambassador until she was already halfway into the room. The Antivan had carefully balanced a tray of tea and biscuits on one arm while she climbed with the other, and she offered Verana a warm smile as she stepped up into Cullen’s bedchamber with silent slippered feet.

“I…thought you might want some refreshment,” Josephine set the tray on the small table beside the Inquisitor. “The cook wanted to send an elf servant to deliver it, but…I decided to bring it myself.”

The chamber was now almost entirely illuminated by the sliver of moonlight that slipped through the gap in the wall, and Josie squinted as she spared a glance in Cullen’s direction, looking to where he lay in bed across the room. She was quiet for many moments before she added, “I thought I would also tell you that some of the soldiers are holding a vigil in the Chantry garden. They wanted you to know that they are keeping you both in their thoughts and prayers tonight. Mother Giselle is presiding.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Verana’s words were appreciative, even as she made no move to partake, “It means a lot.”

The ambassador dipped her head, “Of course, Inquisitor, it’s the least I can do.” She once again looked to where Cullen was eerily still and quiet, and she then glanced to the floor, picking at her ruffled cuffs, “We…have become something of a family, now. We…should do more to show it.”

Verana watched Josephine curiously as the Antivan then perched in the chair on the other side of the table, where Donovan had sat for hours earlier. After a few moments of observing Josie’s uncharacteristically nervous behavior, she asked, “Are you all right, Josephine?”

“Oh?” the ambassador lifted her head and smiled, “I’m fine, of course, I just…” she trailed, shaking her head, “There are some things that I wish I could have said before…just in case…”

Josephine heaved a heavy sigh, her eyes sparkling even as she steeled her expression, “If you are truly the Herald of Andraste…if we are truly guided by the Maker as we believe we are…then he will make it. He has to make it. If he doesn’t…we are lost.”

“He _will_ make it,” Verana affirmed, reaching across the table to take Josie’s hand and staring into the deep shadows around the bed, “I can’t believe anything else.”

Josie squeezed her fingers, and, after a few moments, she chuckled lightly, “You know…I knew you two would end up together eventually. I saw it all back in Haven.”

Verana glanced sideways at the ambassador, “You…did?”

Josephine grinned, “Of course. I’ve seen enough love-struck noble youths in Antiva City, sharing similarly discreet glances and polite smiles. All the signs were there, you just have to know what to look for.”

Verana raised an eyebrow, smiling wryly at the Antivan, “I thought surely you would be speaking from personal experience, considering what I’ve heard about you and Scout Raithon.”

Josie’s eyes went wide for a moment, “You…know about…?”

Verana smirked, “Of course…just like I know everyone knows about me and Cullen.”

Josephine opened her mouth to say something, stopped, sighed, and then shook her head, “It is difficult to keep secrets in this fortress, isn’t it?”

Chuckling, Verana replied, “I’ve learned to assume that almost everyone knows everything at this point.”

Josie laughed lightly in response, “I am somewhat surprised that Leliana has not begun to tease me about it. She teases me about everything else.”

Verana looked thoughtful, “Maybe she thinks it is too serious a matter to joke about.”

Josephine nodded slowly, “Likely. Despite her mischievous nature, she is also quite considerate. Raithon would not take well to any mocking, I’m afraid.”

The Inquisitor cocked her head, “How long have you two been…?”

“Oh,” the ambassador shrugged, “If you count flirtatious words and looks, before Halamshiral. It has not been serious though, until lately.”

Verana grinned, “How serious are we talking, here?”

Josephine raised a brow and gave her a sly smile, “How serious are you and Cullen?”

That gave Verana pause. She looked into the shadows around his bed again and swallowed, “I think…more serious than we have admitted to each other.”

Josephine sighed, “I would say it is the same, then. Though I think,” she paused, pondering her words carefully before continuing, “I think we should be saying a lot more than we are.”

Verana knew that Josephine was right. Perhaps it had taken Cullen’s plunge into a death-like state to remind her…to remind them _all_ …of their mortality. That they could lose each other at any time. Just like Josephine, Verana had so many things that she wanted to say to him, and now she couldn’t. And might not be able to…

“Yes,” she finally said in agreement, her eyes stinging with emotion, “We should. We should be living our lives, enjoying what time we have while we can. Because we don’t know when…if…”

This time it was Josephine who reached across the table and squeezed Verana’s hand, “Don’t give up hope, Inquisitor.” The ambassador gave her an earnest look before glancing to the teapot and adding, “Your tea is getting cold.”

“Oh!” Verana hastily poured a cup for each of them and took a sip, “Thank you, Josephine. Really. It helps.” She then wrinkled her nose, “That sounded far too much like Cole.”

They enjoyed their tea and biscuits in relative silence, then, Verana trying not to betray her famished state to the ambassador by wolfing down the food too quickly. She hadn’t had any meals since breakfast that morning, and her constant worry and fear had rendered her unable to eat at all for the majority of the day.

Half an hour later, Josephine finally stood and yawned, covering her mouth politely and straightening her tunic, “Well, Inquisitor, I am afraid I cannot ignore the call of sleep any longer. But I promise you…I will pray for Cullen tonight.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Verana inclined her head, “And…” she trailed, thinking before adding, “Be sure to tell Raithon when you see him next that I am doing everything I can to help his clan. I have orders to send to Leliana in the morning.”

The ambassador smiled, “I will, Inquisitor. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Verana listened as Josephine opened the tower door and let it close gently behind her, and she sat there in the dark silence for many moments, simply staring into the now solely-moonlit room, the last candle having extinguished a wisp of lazy smoke. She watched the shallow rise and fall of Cullen’s chest, only visible by the slight movement of the streak of silver that slashed across his bed from moon’s bright rays. Remembering the words Cole had told her one time, when she had sat up with him during withdrawals before, she stood and moved carefully over to the bedside.

“ _He knows and feels and is happy. It drives away the dark_ ,” the spirit had said, when she wondered if Cullen could feel her presence in his sleep.

Hoping against hope that she could help him, even in this tiny way, she climbed into the bed next to him and put her arm around his shoulders, squeezing him against her as she curled into him and rested her head on the pillow next to his.

“I’m here, love,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple, and stroking her other hand through his hair, “I’m right here…and I will never leave you. You are never, ever alone.”

His lack of response chilled her, and she prayed that her words could reach him and give him strength in his fight for his very life.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was midmorning when Verana had all Cullen’s correspondence plus her own sent to her in the tower. She continued sitting at her usual spot in the commander’s bedchamber, not willing to leave him out of her sight for one moment in case the status quo suddenly changed.

The courier that came up the ladder, however, was none other than Scout Raithon himself, a thick stack of wrapped parchment in the Dalish elf’s hands. Verana’s brow furrowed slightly, but she gave him a welcoming smile as he emerged in the chamber, approaching her with the papers to deliver to her.

“Good morning, Scout Raithon, and thank you for bringing these to me,” she said quietly, “It is appreciated more than you know.”

Raithon gave a gentle nod as he quietly returned the Inquisitor’s smile, his rich brown gaze glancing over her, towards the stricken Commander, and back again. “Aneth ara, Inquisitor. I wished to visit but lacked any good reason to intrude, so Josephine gave me these to deliver,” he replied softly, greeting her in his native ways before glancing around apprehensively, wondering where to deposit the daunting mound of papers. Rarely did the Dalish elf make an appearance that was not required, and he seemed different somehow, as if there was a certain degree of sincerity softening his usually abrasive demeanor. The scout was also clearly unaccustomed to the work of a paper-delivering squire.

Verana merely gestured for him to hand the papers directly to her, grinning at the mention of Josephine, “She seems to know how to break the ice in any situation.”

Nodding earnestly in agreement, Raithon handed the parchments over before habitually running a hand through his fiery red hair. “Very true, one of her many qualities,” the Dalish elf responded, retaining the soft smile when he remarked in a rather to-the-point matter, “She had much to say to me after she visited you, and, well, I should thank you.”

Verana took the papers and put them in her lap, her grin widening as she replied, “I’m glad she did. But there is no need to thank me,” she paused, glancing away, “I think we both realized that we needed to say more to those we care about.”

“Wise words,” Raithon hummed, holding his hands behind him. Listening and watching with no small degree of intent, he nodded knowingly when the Inquisitor spoke, and his gaze soon wandered over to Cullen once a silence threatened to take hold. “My brother once said the harshest winters deserve the warmest springs, and I think he was right. When the Commander wakes, you’ll be the first thing he’ll see. I doubt he’d have it any other way.”

Verana felt her cheeks warm a bit, and she looked down at her feet before letting her own gaze travel in Cullen’s direction, “Thank you, Raithon. I can only hope that moment comes soon.” Sighing, she added, “I am certain that he would want me to reassure you that we are doing everything in our power to aid your clan. In fact…before he fell into this sleep, he spoke passionately of resolving the issue. I just sent word to Leliana this morning to help Clan Lavellan get into Wycome…I’m certain this mess will be sorted out soon.”

Sparing an amused smile, Raithon bobbed his head gently in a soft nod. “Of course, Inquisitor,” Raithon replied to her thanks, but his relaxed demeanor ceased after the mention of his people. While his tattooed countenance regained its neutral, expressionless quality, worry and uncertainty visibly lurked in his dark eyes; it seemed that some emotions were too persistent to hide. “I know the Inquisition will do whatever it must to protect others from the growing chaos,” he answered evenly, tactfully.

Verana was silent for a few moments, contemplating his words before continuing, “We have done well, thus far. I have confidence in Leliana and her agents, and I trust her with this mission to get the clan to safety, but…” she glanced at the commander and then back at Raithon, “Cullen fears that more troops will be needed before this is all over; he anticipates a pushback at some point, and I know that he is right. There is only so much these red lyrium-maddened nobles will let pass before they try to retaliate against our efforts.” She sighed heavily, “I know this must be terrible for you to endure, Raithon…knowing your loved ones are in danger and nigh-powerless to help them.” She looked down at the pile of papers, most of them reports for Cullen. Quietly, she added, “I know it all too well.”

Silence hung in the air while the Dalish elf contemplated what else to say on the sensitive matter. In spite of his steely poise, Raithon averted his gaze somewhat as it betrayed all manner of tumultuous, vulnerable emotions storming within him. “My kin are relentless, and the Inquisition’s forces are plenty,” he finally spoke, although carefully, as if he were treading on thin ice, “We will see those poisoned madmen put down, for the good of Clan Lavellan and Wycome’s people alike.” Raithon was quiet for a moment more until he concluded with another touch of brutal honesty, “I know I’m doing more good there than I would if I was there.  I probably would have gotten myself killed at some point or another.”

Verana nodded slowly, “It is good that you know when you are an asset and when you are a liability. That kind of self-awareness speaks of wisdom, and will serve you well.” Suddenly, she remembered Cullen’s fears about his own condition harming the Inquisition, and she added quietly, “If your judgment is not clouded, however. And,” she sighed, looking down at her hands, “if others are willing to listen to your warnings.”

“Indeed.” Raithon replied simply, observing Verana quietly from the corner of his gaze. Considering what to say as his focus subtly eased towards the Commander, the scout mentioned admirably, “Meanwhile, the willingness to acknowledge one’s hindrances and attempt to remedy them shows strength, intelligence.” An amused huff escaped the elf before he said, “I know my hotheadedness would have gotten me killed, had I been with the clan during all this. Not sure if I would have come to such a revelation on my own if I didn’t find myself here.”

The Inquisitor looked thoughtful, “I think the Inquisition has revealed much about ourselves…as individuals and as people as a whole.”

Nodding in agreement, Raithon shifted from one foot to the other while he stood there attentively. “I can believe it. Serving a purpose greater than myself or my clan was something I never thought I’d do until I crossed the Inquisition. Someday, they’ll be singing stories about the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, who held the darkness at bay, and I’ll know I had a part to play in them, even if the lyrics don’t give credit.” He smiled slyly at the entertaining thought, arching a brow towards Verana for her say on the matter.

Verana chuckled in response, “I doubt the lyrics will be _accurate_ , much less appropriately inclusive. I…” she trailed, “I certainly didn’t get here on my own. I won’t defeat Corypheus by myself, either. Everyone, all the way down to the grooms and cooks, is important to this Inquisition.” She sighed, glancing in Cullen’s direction again, “We must all take great care of each other, or we will be lost.”

“We have, and we will,” Raithon reassured, following her gaze over to the man, “The Inquisition takes care of its own and many more. Can’t say I know of a nobler purpose than that, really.” Rocking onto his heels for a moment, the Dalish elf contemplated aloud, “You wonder if he’s hearing all this. I’ve seen poisons that render a man still like this while still being awake in there. For all we know, lyrium might have the same effects to Templars like him.”

The look that settled over Verana was a mixture of horror and sickness, and she slowly closed her eyes, her fists clenching as she fought to keep herself composed, “Seeker Cassandra and Lady Vivienne explained that this was his body’s effort to regain control over itself from the influence of the lyrium. Maker…if he’s trapped in there, aware but unable to do anything…” She took a few breaths, “I wish I could do more. I want to help him. I _need_ to help him, and I can do nothing at all but watch, and wait, and hope…”

She looked at Raithon and continued, perfectly frank in her words, “Either he wakes, and he potentially makes a full recovery, or he dies. He hangs in limbo right now, and Maker only knows which way he’ll go.”

Seriousness regained control over Raithon after he witnessed her reaction to his contemplation. Considering his next words, the Dalish elf spoke rather earnestly, “He will overcome this, I’m sure of it. Even for it to be lyrium of all things his body is working to cleanse itself of, the Commander seems like an enduring man with few equals. Also, you’ve even made sure that he’s been seen by the most capable mages and healers of the Inquisition, quite possibly the best to be had this side of Thedas.”

A darker look fell upon Raithon’s face when he thought of her concluding remark, and he could not help but ponder, “I may be unfamiliar with the Chantry’s mythos, but Commander Cullen serves the Maker with a purpose no one else could fulfill like he does. If the Maker is an all-powerful and benevolent being, then allowing death to be his fate seems rather contradicting. Nevertheless, I’ll continue to offer kind words for the Commander’s sake to Mythal; the favor of a savage’s god is still the favor of a god.”

Verana half-smiled, “Thank you, Raithon, and I am sure that Cullen would thank you as well, were he able.” Pausing, she then added, “Josephine said similar things last night. The Maker is putting us all to the test, to be sure.” Sighing again, she shook her head, “I am sorry. You did not come here to listen to me prattle on…rather un-Inquisitor-like of me, I’m sure others would say. If there’s nothing that you need, don’t let me keep you. I do not wish to wear out your ear or your patience.”

Raithon returned Verana’s weak smile with a slight nod, taking a step back. “You’re most welcome, Inquisitor. It’s alright; I much prefer well-meaning intentions that are poorly conveyed than the other way around.” As he turned back towards the ladder, Raithon concluded with a small hint of amusement, “I’ll send some niceties your way when I hear that he’s awakened, assuming Lady Nightingale doesn’t disprove of me antagonizing you two so.”

She inclined her head to him, but when he reached the ladder, she impulsively spoke a phrase in elvish – one of a few she had picked up from an old friend – that she was certain she botched somehow:

“Dareth shiral, Raithon.”

He froze upon hearing the Inquisitor bid farewell in his people’s words, and the Dalish elf looked over his shoulder towards her, a glint of respect and pride shining in his eyes. “Dareth shiral, Inquisitor,” Raithon echoed, nodding firmly before descending down the ladder and disappearing from sight.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Verana was in the midst of sorting out reports and filling in replies where she could when she heard more steps on the ladder; in a few moments, Varric’s head appeared as the dwarf clambered into the room. Straightening his coat, he offered Verana a friendly smile and glanced sideways to Cullen’s bed. He stood there for a few moments in silence, and then shook his head, “Got yourself into some deep shit this time, didn’t you, Curly?”

Verana was slightly amused by the familiar way in which Varric spoke of the commander. Smiling slightly, she asked, “You knew him in Kirkwall, didn’t you?”

The dwarf chuckled, “More by word of mouth than anything else. Hawke spoke to him on occasion when some of the Templars started disappearing, but not very often other than that. The most we dealt with him was when Meredith tried to have Aveline Vallen replaced as city guard captain after a bunch of false reports were filed against her. The Knight-Commander wanted her replaced with Cullen, but he didn’t want the position, and he especially didn’t want to take it out from under Aveline. So, he gave Hawke plenty of opportunity to find out where the claims were coming from and indirectly helped Aveline keep her job.”

Varric smirked, “I knew the moment he put himself between Hawke and Meredith the day the Chantry was destroyed that he had balls of steel. Now that I know he voluntarily quit cold on the lyrium? Might have to upgrade them to silverite.”

Verana couldn’t help but smile as the dwarf cast a glance her way. He mirrored her grin and continued, “I remember I thought he was rather young to be a Knight-Captain, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that he didn’t get the position because he kissed Meredith’s ass, no matter how alike they thought back then. He was capable, strong, and dedicated to helping people…and he still is.”

Varric turned towards her and slowly strode up to her, putting a hand on her arm reassuringly, “All of that’s to say…if anyone can get through this, Inquisitor, Curly can. He’s jumped high hurdles before, he can do it again.”

Verana’s smile widened in appreciation, “Thank you, Varric.”

He turned and watched Cullen for the longest time, and Verana could only wonder what was churning in the dwarf’s thoughts. After several long moments, though, she tried to break the uncomfortable silence by adding, “You know, Varric, I used to think your description of him in _The Tale of the Champion_ was utter exaggeration. But now I know you didn’t embellish at all.”

Varric chuckled, “See? Sometimes I tell the truth. Maybe you need to put in a good word for me the next time you talk to the Seeker.”

Verana shook her head, “I doubt anything I said would change her opinion about you in the least.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours rolled by like years. Verana completed as much paperwork as she could before her brain refused to process any more, and she had to set the stack of parchment aside. After Varric had left, Donovan, Cassandra, and Vivienne arrived to check up on Cullen’s condition, but they could do naught but withdraw back the way they came once they found out that nothing had changed.

Donovan brought her supper that evening, and he talked with her a bit over their meal before retreating back to the Templar quarters to leave her to her thoughts. He sensed that his sister was distressed beyond measure, but he knew when to leave her alone; acquiescing to her requests to leave and sleep would result in more than insistence on staying against her will…

It was well into the night, the room dark and eerily quiet once again, when Verana could take it no more. She could hold back the tide no longer. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she stumbled wearily to Cullen’s bedside and threw herself over his still form, burying her face in his neck and holding him tight. His skin was feverishly hot.

“Please… _please_ , wake up!” her voice was muffled and hiccupping, “ _Please_ , wake up! I can’t lose you…I _can’t_ …”

Her words were choked as the tears came out harder, her throat constricting and her heart aching.

“Darkness, stillness, echoing voices…hearing but not seeing, feeling but not moving. Is this what it is like to be dead?”

Verana jumped at hearing Cole’s voice. The spirit stood quietly in the near corner, his form outlined by moonlight. After a moment, he continued, “He sleeps, but…doesn’t. His mind is awake but his body is not…it is difficult to describe. They need to be together or it won’t work.”

Her voice trembled, “ _What_ won’t work?”

“Purging, purifying, pushing away,” Cole muttered, “The chains pull tightest when they are closest to breaking. I can help.”

Verana shook her head, “How, Cole?”

The spirit moved forward, “I can make him sleep. Body and mind together. Then he can heal, whole and happy. Let me help.”

Verana was slightly alarmed. What if whatever Cole was planning _didn’t_ work at all? The spirit was unable to predict the outcome of every choice…what if he didn’t help but hurt? What if it caused Cullen to…

“Cole,” Verana’s voice was firm, even if it shook with emotion, “Do you know for sure that you can help him recover fully and completely? That he will live?”

He nodded emphatically, “Yes. The chains have a lock and I have found the key. I can use it and make him better.”

Verana took in a sharp breath. If Cole was right, and Cullen would not recover in this state, then he obviously could not remain this way. But if Cole made an irreversible mistake and turned the tide against the commander, pushing him closer to death by forcing him into sleep…

She shook her head. A choice had to be made – regardless of what happened, the status quo could no longer be sustained.

“All right, Cole,” she finally acquiesced, reluctantly shifting so that the spirit could access Cullen easier, “Do it.”

Nodding, he reassured her, “This will help…I promise.”

Then, he reached over and touched Cullen lightly on the shoulder, a small light emanating from his fingertips before fading away.

“There…he should fall into true sleep now,” Cole backed away.

Sure enough, within moments, Cullen’s shallow breathing deepened and grew in audibility, and Verana could see his eyes flicking back and forth behind his eyelids as he began to dream.

“You should sleep, too.”

Verana heard Cole address her own wearied state, and she was about to say something when she felt a surge of magic slam into her and blackness consume her field of view. The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was the spirit’s distant voice.

“It will be better when you wake up. You’ll see.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up after Cole’s spell was like swimming out of a bog with weighted limbs.

At first Verana was only aware of sound, the steady beat of Cullen’s heart right beneath her ear. His breathing was rhythmic and steady, not ragged or labored, and this fact immediately gave her relief.

Then, she could feel herself slightly rising and falling in time with his breath, and she realized that she had passed out across him the instant she had succumbed to the sleeping magic. Her cheek was almost numb where it pressed to his chest, and her whole body ached from not moving for hours.

Her hands felt dampness, the sheets cool with it, and she knew immediately that he must have finally broken his fever during the night, which also somewhat eased her worry. Perhaps the worst was over…

She was pulled the rest of the way out of sleep by the feeling of fingers running gently through her hair. Her eyes popped open, wide with surprise, and she abruptly pushed herself upwards to see Cullen slightly smiling at her, rather bashfully in fact, his own hair a tousled, damp mess.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn-”

“ _Cullen!_ ” Verana took his face in her hands, looking him over intensely; his eyes were clear and alert, and his skin was no longer burning hot. For the first time in days, she felt she could relax, and as soon as she did, all the pent up emotions she had held back inside her burst through the dam…

Curling her arms around his neck, she sobbed uncontrollably – all the worry, fear, stress, and anger that had built up since the Conclave explosion had to have an outlet…and it found it at last. Once the tears started, everything she had held back over the last few months came pouring out with them, finally released by her overwhelming relief that Cullen would live.

She had not cried this way in a long time; longer than she could remember. She had, of course, leaked a few tears for various reasons, even cried a bit at recent nightmares…but nothing like this. Her entire body shuddered with the strength of the sobs that tore through her, the emotional pain slowly eased by each one. Cullen held her to him with one hand while weakly stroking through her hair with the other, whispering soothing words and kissing the top of her head as she squeezed him tighter.

When at last the tears eased enough for her to talk, she raised herself on her hands and looked him in the eyes, “Oh, Cullen. I was so worried about you. I felt so _helpless_ …”

“I know,” he replied, his voice slightly hoarse as he touched her cheek gently, “I heard you…and the others…”

Realizing his throat was likely parched, Verana immediately reached for the waterskin on the nightstand and offered to help him with it. He was still weak, despite the worst seemingly having passed, and he gratefully let her assist in holding it to his lips as he drank. He quickly gulped down its contents, sinking back against his pillow when he finished. Verana set it aside and then took a vial of the concoction that Vivienne had left for him and popped the cork, “Here…Vivienne said to drink this to assist in recovering your strength.”

Knowing better than to protest, Cullen nodded silently and then downed the contents, wincing at the slightly bitter taste but otherwise not complaining.

Recorking the empty vial and putting it beside the empty waterskin, Verana placed her hand over his heart, and he pressed it to his chest with his own; tears refilling her eyes, the Inquisitor gave a shuddering sigh, “I was so afraid that I might have caused this by not listening to you…”

“No, Verana, no,” Cullen reassured her quietly, “This wasn’t your fault…it was coming anyway. It was only a matter of time.”

“I…I’ve seen what happens to Templars who cannot shake their addiction,” she continued softly, “I couldn’t stand the thoughts of that happening to you.” She paused, bowing her head, “There was one at Ostwick I knew well, an aging woman put in charge of watching the children of the tower…to make sure we didn’t unleash our untamed powers on each other. She was like a stern grandmother, watching us all with hawk eyes. I remember those eyes, such a pale blue they were almost white.”

She sighed, and then went on, “As the years rolled by, she began to forget our names. At first it just seemed like absentmindedness, but then it got worse. In those last few months, sometimes she would forget where she was. She was an archer and wicked fast with a bow, and one time she pulled it on our tutor because she thought we were a gaggle of apostates and she was in an abandoned fortress somewhere, sent out on an assignment.”

Verana shook her head, “Eventually, she disappeared, and I know not where they took her. It was so…so sad. Because the lyrium turned a good woman – a caring woman in her own way – into a demented shell of her former self. And I couldn’t let that happen to you. I just…couldn’t…”

He squeezed her hand, “I know. I understand. And I thank you.”

She laughed nervously, “Don’t thank me yet. It might not be over after all…we’ll have to wait and see.” Squeezing his hand back, she looked at him earnestly, “You need to rest. Stay in bed and get some honest sleep. It will take a few days to confirm your symptoms are gone. Keep taking those vials morning and night, and send a messenger if anything changes for the worst again.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next three days, Verana and Cullen both stayed holed in their respective chambers, resting as much as possible to regain their strength. There was no end to their work, however, and on the fourth day, Josephine called Leliana, Verana, and Raithon to the war table with correspondence from Clan Lavellan’s keeper. Leliana’s agents had successfully helped the clan take shelter in Wycome, but several red lyrium-poisoned nobles fled and publically blamed the city’s problems on the elves. Now, an assembly of Free Marcher soldiers from surrounding cities threatened the entire clan’s safety…

“This is outside the realm of my agents, I’m afraid,” Leliana said solemnly as she bent over the war table, analyzing the positions of their troops, agents, and diplomats and the distance between them and the gathering Marcher army.

“There are more nobles in the Marches than just these maddened liars,” Josephine added, hand on her hip, “I can rally those loyal to our cause and convince the army to stand down.”

"A hundred of my people's hunters can fell three times their number when the fight is taken to the forests, but the Clan is cornered in a city they have little experience defending from inside," Raithon remarked.

Josephine smiled wryly, “With luck, there won’t have to be any fighting.”

Verana frowned as she, too, stared at the map spread out before them, blue-violet eyes flicking between the pieces that had been positioned around and near Wycome. Looking up at Leliana and Josephine, she replied with a glance in Raithon’s direction, “It is good to be thinking of defensive strategies, however. I’m not so sure words will help at this point, if the Marchers have rallied soldiers.”

“The Marchers are looking for a fight; it would take a miracle to talk them out of one,” The Dalish elf agreed while he smoldered at the war table’s depiction of Wycome’s predicament, “What numbers are we looking at? How many men do they have, and how many can the Inquisition send in time to be of any use?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Raithon’s darkened expression betrayed how hard he was thinking about their next move with his clan’s fate hanging in the balance, “I’ll freely admit that I don’t know the ins and outs of battle tactics with more than a few hundred on either side.”

“I’m lacking Cullen’s reports, so I don’t have exact figures,” Leliana answered, “But last I checked, we have a good-sized squadron camped not far from where the bandits attacked the clan months ago. There has to be at least a hundred men there. Plus whatever guard forces are left in the city and the fighting members of the clan itself.”

“Judging from the information that Lady Guinevere has passed along,” Josephine thumbed through the parchment on her writing tablet, “There could be three hundred men or more assembled amongst the various forces of the Marchers…”

“…and that number could grow if the nobles of Wycome keep gaining supporters,” Verana concluded, shaking her head.

“We have allies in cities with more far more influence than Wycome,” Josephine stated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “They can help convince the others to listen to reason.”

“So, at least a hundred of us against at least three hundred of them.” The odds didn’t seem to rattle Raithon very much as he pondered them aloud. Nodding in agreement with the Ambassador, he soon added, “I’ve seen chances like these before, but we should do whatever we can to make sure the Marcher army doesn’t grow.” His dark expression remained while he thoughtfully considered the possibilities until a bright look ignited his burnt brown eyes momentarily.

“I’m afraid that we don’t have time to contact our allies in the region, get messages to the army, _and_ manage to convince them they’ve been lied to before they’re on top of the city,” Verana focused on the piece that represented their forces, “that could take days we don’t have.”

Leliana’s brow rose, but the spymaster said nothing, watching the Inquisitor carefully. She sensed Verana’s subtle challenge of Josephine’s logic, and she realized this was the first time Verana had insistently pushed back against Josephine’s diplomatic suggestions.

The ambassador herself cocked her head and met Verana’s gaze with a respectful nod, “With all due respect, Your Worship, I disagree. All it takes is a few letters in the right hands, and we already have Lady Guinevere in Wycome itself.”

Verana took a breath, and closed her eyes briefly, wondering how to explain her thoughts and what she felt was the best path without offending the ambassador. She realized that of all her advisors, Josephine had yet to have a direct hand in the preservation of Clan Lavellan, and she seemed itching to prove valuable in this situation.

Raithon chewed on his cheek, listening to the pair debate whether Josephine’s efforts would prove effective at this point. He soon had that familiar metallic taste in his mouth again, so he swallowed quietly before asking them both, “Will the Marcher soldiers trust our word over that of their maddened leaders? Fighting will be costly, but...”

Trailing off, the Dalish elf simply shook his head and sighed, “I’m trying to think of what’s best for my clan, and attempting to turn the Marchers against the nobles rallying them is a gamble even I’m wary of taking. Either we succeed and don’t have to lose lives protecting Wycome and my clan, or we don’t and leave them defenseless against the Marchers’ madness.”

“I think you underestimate the influence of the Inquisition in the area,” Josephine remarked, “Do not forget that Her Worship is from the Marches herself. Ostwick and Starkhaven both stand with us.”

“And yet there are plenty of other cities who ignore that fact,” Verana replied, “The gathering army of soldiers attests to that.”

“Inquisitor,” Josephine leaned closer, “Leliana’s agents are past their use in this arena and Cullen…”

_Thudthudthud-BANG!_

“Our soldiers need to be within those city walls immediately.”

At that moment, the commander himself burst into the war room, fully armed and armored, striding directly to where Verana stood on the Marches side of the war table and forcefully moving his designated piece directly on top of Wycome with a definitive _clink._ His eyes almost blazed with determination, and his posture was, perhaps, more confident than she had yet seen it – and that was saying something.

“Cul –Commander!” Verana looked him over swiftly, “Are you…”

“I’m fine,” he replied tersely, not looking up, “But the elves of Wycome are not, and the only way to ensure that the Marchers don’t slaughter them all is to get our men within the walls and raise the banner of the Inquisition.”

“Well then, I like what he has to say on the matter,” Raithon remarked finally, gesturing to the Lion before running a hand through his hair. The elf didn’t feel at all comfortable at the war table, and he refrained from meeting the Ambassador’s gaze as the alternative of meeting the Marchers in a fight became the more popular route.

Josephine, though obviously surprised and even pleased to see the commander up and about again, frowned when he rather forcefully made his opinion on the proper course of action known to them, which, alongside the relative agreement of Raithon and the implications of the Inquisitor, pitted three against one.

“And if we do that,” the ambassador countered, “Then the Marchers could very well think we have claimed Wycome for ourselves, which could earn us enemies rather than allies. It could be seen as a military provocation.”

Cullen shook his head, “We would be marking it as _protected_ , not claimed. The city can choose whatever leaders it likes to replace Duke Antoine. But we must make it known clearly and without misunderstanding that under no circumstances will we allow an entire clan and alienage to be slaughtered because of the lies of those influenced by red lyrium!”

Nodding slowly in agreement with the Commander, the Dalish elf carefully added, “Surely our intentions behind defending Wycome will be understood by the rest of the Free Marches after the fact. Not to mention, you pointed out that Starkhaven and Ostwick are with us; it would make them poor allies to jump to conclusions without asking for the facts first.”

Josephine shifted her weight again, “Starkhaven and Ostwick are not among those who have sent soldiers against Wycome either, Raithon. But many other city-states have, and these are the ones who could cause even more trouble for the Inquisition later down the road if they see us as warmongers. We must maintain a peaceful image-”

“And we will,” Cullen insisted, “No one will raise a blade if we are not attacked first. That makes the Marchers the provocateurs, not us.”

Verana watched the exchange between the commander and ambassador as Cullen voiced what she had been trying to formulate more diplomatically in her head.

“Regardless of what anyone thinks of it,” Leliana suddenly interjected, interrupting the argument between Josephine and Cullen with a pointed look in Verana’s direction, “A decision must be made. We cannot argue about this forever…we must defer to the Inquisitor’s judgment and do as she commands.”

Cullen looked sideways at Verana with an intense gaze, his voice low as he implored her, “Inquisitor…Our troops are ready and able to move into the city within a day of receiving the orders. Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre will have the Inquisition banner raised above the walls and will fortify the position in case the Marchers decide to attack. If we do not do this,” he paused, “then we leave the elves utterly defenseless in the hopes that words prevail over swords.”

Verana sighed, glancing between her advisors and Raithon. Once again, she was left with the burdened feeling of having many, many lives in her hands. One wrong move could mean the deaths of hundreds, and she would be to blame.

Chewing on his cheek again, Raithon ran a hand through his already unkempt hair before ushering a near-silent sigh. He would greatly appreciate the simplicity of the next scouting mission Leliana might give him, because he was not cut out for the heavy decisions these four made on a routine basis. Unsure of that to do or say as the least significant individual in the room, the Dalish elf figured it would be best to keep his mouth shut as he watched the contemplating look churn in the Inquisitor’s violet eyes.

At last Verana took a deep breath…

“Cullen? Dispatch your orders. We garrison Wycome, and damn what anyone thinks about it.”

Pushing back from the table, the Inquisitor nodded to Raithon and added, “Maker be with them all.”

Leliana heaved what seemed to be a relieved sigh as first Verana departed the war room, and then a slightly-surprised Josephine, who would give appropriate instructions to the Inquisition’s diplomatic envoy. The spymaster moved to leave as well, pausing beside the elf for a moment, “If you want work to keep your mind off of things, I have plenty. We will pass on more information to you as soon as we have word. That is a promise.”

After the Nightingale left, Cullen, too, took one last look at the war table before meeting Raithon’s gaze. Clapping a firm hand to the elf’s shoulder, he inclined his head slightly, “I…wanted to let you know that I heard your words a few days ago, Scout Raithon. I wished to thank you for showing support for the Inquisitor in such a delicate time. And…for your confidence.” Stepping away, he returned his hands to his sword’s pommel and added, “Clan Lavellan will not go undefended. You have my word.”

Lost in his thoughts, Raithon initially spared a grateful nod to the Spymaster’s offer, wishing little more than for things to return to normal…

_If our day-to-day existence could even be considered normal_ , the elf thought quietly as his superiors departed one after another. However, he was distracted from his contemplation when the Commander clasped his shoulder and offered a few thankful words of his own. Nodding softly, Raithon replied simply, careful to keep his voice down, “I knew what the Inquisitor needed to hear; she needed to hear that someone was sure you were going to come back. And you have my gratitude. As much as I like Josephine’s methods, I don’t want to gamble with my clan’s fate.”

Cullen smirked, recalling a certain Wicked Grace match, “I…have a poor history with gambling myself. It is not something I should indulge in often.”

With that, he turned away and made for the door to leave the elf to his thoughts, looking once over his shoulder with a final, “Good day, Raithon.”

“Likewise, Commander,” Raithon answered with a respectful nod, sighing once he was alone. With little reason to linger in the war room, he soon departed to hopefully ease his nerves with a bit of fresh air. He also wondered about possibly visiting the Ambassador later, but the elf was unsure how wise that would be, considering her mood…

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week and a half later, Raithon was called back into the war room to hear the results of Cullen’s orders. All three advisors and the Inquisitor stood together on the far side of the table when the elf entered, and each of them bore neutral expressions as they inclined their heads in greeting.

“We have reports concerning Clan Lavellan and Wycome, Raithon,” Josephine began, “And we wished to pass the information along to you.”

Biting his lip, Raithon eyed each of the four carefully, frightened by the lack of positivity in their expressions. Paling noticeably, the Dalish elf quickly asks worriedly, “Are they well?”

The women all glanced to Cullen, who delivered the results of his orders in as factual of a tone as possible:

“Our soldiers occupied Wycome and lifted the banner of the Inquisition above the walls as commanded, occurring shortly before the forces of the Marchers arrived at Wycome’s gates. Fearing a confrontation with our men, the Marchers were willing to talk. Josephine’s envoy, Guinevere Volant, then informed the army that they had been deceived, and upon presenting evidence of the influence of red lyrium and Tevinter sabotage, they immediately sought to make restitution. The city of Wycome has been left untouched, the army dispersed. Your Keeper is now one of two elven leaders, the other a respected member of the alienage, who have joined the freshly-instituted Wycome City Council as a replacement for the late Duke.”

It was then that Verana smiled broadly, exchanging looks with the commander before returning her gaze to Raithon, “In essence, your clan members are now citizens of Wycome, safe and sound.”

“Your clan has also recognized your contributions to the Inquisition’s efforts and to their own safety by joining us in the planning and preparations,” Josephine added with a wink, “You should check the stables when you have the chance.”

“Clan Lavellan has also officially allied with the Inquisition’s forces,” Leliana concluded, “And they have pledged their support in the future.”

A relieved sigh immediately escaped Raithon’s lungs once he knew that his kin were safe. It was even better knowing that not a single life had been lost thanks to the diplomatic measures of Josephine’s operative. Habitually running his hands through his hair, the scout nodded to all of them and replied gratefully, “I cannot thank you all enough. Honestly, I’m at a loss for words.”

After being recognized for his deeds, Raithon raised his brows when he realized that whatever awaited him in the stables was likely a great thing indeed. “I’ll be sure to head through here as soon as I can. Thank you all.”

Raithon was not really known to be an overwhelmingly positive individual, but he truly seemed genuinely ecstatic knowing that his clan’s future was secure. A bright smile of unprecedented proportions adorned his countenance, and a lively shine inhabited his eyes. The advisors and Inquisitor watched as he left the war room with a significant spring in his step, and Leliana in particular seemed very pleased.

Verana glanced between them, “Well done, everyone.”

Leliana chuckled, “It was as much you as us. We provided the options, and you guided us.”

The Inquisitor smiled, “I tried. We were lucky things turned out the way they did.”

“Or blessed,” Josephine added with a wink.

Sighing, Verana nodded, her gaze flicking towards Cullen, “I agree…the Maker must be watching over us all.”

With that, she dismissed them, striding out of the war room with a confidence she had not felt in a while.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was just beginning to set when Verana found Cullen standing on an isolated segment of the battlements, looking out over the valley of shimmering snow beneath the fortress and the towering, jagged mountains around them.

He closed his eyes and inhaled the mountain air deep into his lungs, letting out tension with his foggy breath as he leaned against the crenellations with both hands. Verana approached him quietly, not wanting to intrude too suddenly. Moments of peace for Cullen were all too rare.

At last, he glanced to the side where she leaned her shoulder against the wall, and she offered him warm smile, “Feeling better?”

He sighed, a contented expression on his face as he replied, “Much. I feel less burdened than I have in…well, as long as I can remember.”

Verana cocked her head, “Your symptoms…are they completely gone now?”

He thought a moment, flexing his fingers, “I…think so. I haven’t had a single headache since waking up from that episode over a week ago. I haven’t had that…unending thirst or the cold hands or…any of it, really. For the first time in years I’ve been able to work without these things hanging over me, pressing down on me…I…”

He moved forward and took her hands in both of his, brushing his lips across her knuckles, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I know I thanked you already, but I feel I have to thank you again. I came so close to breaking…so close to losing it all. But you wouldn’t let me give up, and...Verana, I could not have done this without you.”

Verana smiled broadly, her cheeks warming at his touch, “I’m so proud of you, Cullen. I knew you could do it.”

“But enough of me,” he added, pulling her a bit closer, “What about you? No one asks about you often enough. On the surface, you always seem to have everything under control, but…I know appearances can be deceiving,” he paused, brushing his thumbs across the tops of her hands, “How are _you_ doing, Verana? Truly?”

She sighed, looking down at her feet, “I’m always afraid…fearing that one wrong decision will tear us all down. Like with the alliance with Clan Lavellan. One mistake, and lives are lost, opportunities gone, reputations ruined, and we fail the people.” She shook her head, looking off at the distant mountains, “And Corypheus is still lurking out there somewhere, beyond all this political nonsense, threatening to tear everything apart…”

He squeezed her fingers gently, “Don’t doubt yourself, Verana. We have done so much and have come so far with you as our leader. The Inquisition has great faith in you… _I_ have great faith in you.”

She grinned sheepishly, her hair falling forward as she looked down, “Well, I’m glad. I just hope I live up to expectations.”

He chuckled, “I am sure that you will.”

With that, they began to walk together along the battlements, meandering back towards his office. They went slowly, side by side, first entering the darkened storage tower…

…and that was when she was taken completely by surprise as he suddenly pushed her to the side, up against the wall, swiftly closing the space between them.

“Cullen, wha- _mmph!_ ”

She was cut off as his lips crushed hers in the fiercest and most passionate kiss he had yet given her, his hands slipping around her waist. Gone was any lingering shyness from their prior kisses; they had all been tender but not fiery. Now he kissed her with purpose and confidence – something almost desperate and insistent behind it. Up until this point, he had seemed to err on the side of restraint so as not to seem too aggressive or overbearing; thus, this sudden change was indeed surprising…but it was not unwelcome. It felt as though something in him had awakened and taken control, and Verana willingly surrendered to it, relaxing even as he pulled her tighter against him…

She was completely breathless when he finally broke it off and took her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers and staring into her eyes with an intense gaze.

“Verana,” he whispered, “You spoke of things that need to be said before the chance is taken from us, and feel that I must say something to you now. You have saved me from so much…myself, even. You have been my guiding light in the darkness. But I want you to know…need you to know and remember…that no matter what happens, I will always, _always_ be here for you, too. Never feel that you must shoulder your burdens alone, especially for my sake. As you have held me up, so shall I hold you, whenever you need me. Don’t forget that.”

Before she could say anything in response, he brought her hands to his lips again and kissed them, “My sword is yours, my lady…as is my heart.”

And then, he reluctantly pulled away from her, as his waiting duties could no longer be ignored. She could do naught but watch him depart, still somewhat paralyzed, and she let out a small sigh as the door closed behind him, returning the tower to its ever-deepening shadows. There, in the quiet dark, she slowly smiled to herself, closing her eyes as she _understood_.

The Lion was finally free.


End file.
